


Stolen Virtue

by The_Bad_Side



Series: Wandering [4]
Category: Hunter X Hunter
Genre: Age Difference, Alternate Universe - No Nen, Body Worship, Dom/sub, Hand & Finger Kink, Implied/Referenced Underage Prostitution, Implied/Referenced Underage Sex, M/M, Verbal Humiliation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-13
Updated: 2021-03-13
Packaged: 2021-03-20 19:48:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,872
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30010035
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Bad_Side/pseuds/The_Bad_Side
Summary: Chrollo’s weird and creepy with how he stares and the way he fetishizes Kurapika - calling him an angel. Revering the purity he imagines Kurapika to have despite the hole in the wall he ordered his underlings dragged Kurapika from. It’s nothing but fantasy and likely a way for Chrollo to justify his kink. But Chrollo… Chrollo hasn’t failed a single test yet. He’s never raised his voice or hesitated or even been unaccommodating. Although he isn’t treating Kurapika like a person, it’s still the best Kurapika’s had in a long time.*Reading Part 2 of the series, Stolen Angel, is highly recommended*
Relationships: Kurapika/Kuroro Lucifer | Chrollo Lucifer
Series: Wandering [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1915882
Comments: 14
Kudos: 36





	Stolen Virtue

Kurapika can’t look past his own reflection in the tinted car window. The glass radiates cold over his lips and fogs with every shallow breath. It’s nearly quiet in this space with the radio playing classical piano at a whisper beneath the white noise of light rainfall and city ambiance. 

Kurapika is still, confined to the small patch of warmth he’s created for himself on the crisp leather limo seat. It’s not his first time being in the back of a limo but it is his first time being in the back of a limo alone. Not to mention being dressed as a man at the same time… It’s nearly a luxury. Much of Kurapika’s life could be characterized by  _ nearlys.  _

The ruby that dangles from Kurapika’s ear is dull in his reflection when compared to the jewels in his memory. No matter how authentic the stone itself is, it will never be more than  _ nearly _ a ruby to Kurapika. It’s hardly fair to make the comparison at all since his mother’s rubies were magic the moment he saw them resting in the velvet of her jewelry box.

The first time she showed them to Kurapika, she brought the dark wooden box down from the shelf in her closet and set it on her bed so Kurapika could see inside. She sat with him on the tidy, cream comforter and unveiled a necklace of dark jewels to him. Their color was rich even in the dim light of the evening and accented by the crude metal that they were set in. She told him she got them from her mother. Then grandmother from great grandmother and great and great grandmother all the way back in his heritage to before the country they lived in existed. 

_ Generations, _ she told Kurapika with love in her voice.  _ Everyone in our family has touched these.  _ She placed her hand on the jewels and brought Kurapika’s hand into the velvet to have him do the same.  _ Generations of Kurta love and memories… you can feel them, right? _ And in Kurapika’s mind, he could. It was a magic charm cast from decades of love and belonging. 

She let Kurapika run his fingers over the necklace of rubies and crossed her bedroom to the nearby cradle where his baby brother lay. She brought him over so he could touch the rubies and be part of the magic too. 

_ “What about dad?” _ Kurapika had asked with wide eyes, his father still out working. His mother smiled and pet his hair. 

_ He’s in here too _ . She assured him.  _ Because he also touched them.  _ And when she said that, Kurapika could feel the security of his father’s worn hands too. 

She let him put on the ruby necklace and held up a mirror so he could see himself with his whole family line embracing him. Even at such a young age, Kurapika felt that he was sharing a piece of himself with the ruby resting against his chest for his little brother - and then generations beyond them. 

That was the last time Kurapika ever saw those rubies. 

Now, Kurapika touches the filthy ruby earring dangling by his neck. It was stolen and before that worn by a woman who went to clubs for the richest sort of criminals. And before that, Kurapika has no idea. Perhaps they were stolen by the sellers or obtained through slavery. No proud lineage or magic. Just… just a rock that people are pretending is worth something. The only reason Kurapika is wearing them is because of some… man. Some man who’s little more than a stranger, even after months of being inseparable. 

Chrollo opens the door on the left to enter the limo from the bustling street. Even on a rainy night, the city of Dorias is alive. Kurapika watches him from the window reflection but doesn’t turn his head. Chrollo nearly fits in -  _ nearly _ \- wearing his black, double-breasted suit with a cellphone propped up on his shoulder for him to speak into and his free hand slipping a generic black umbrella into a bag. 

“Yes ma’am. Yes, thank you, that will be perfect… About fifteen minutes.” 

Chrollo’s voice is smooth. He’s elegant, eloquent, respectful, composed… The sort of man to put anyone who works with customers at ease. Even when speaking on the phone and not face-to-face with a regular person, Chrollo is the right amount of animated. He has a soft smile, he blinks regularly, his head moves a bit, and his eyes look between the pristine limo interior and out the window to the passing cars. Chrollo looks normal and even Kurapika, who knows better, can’t pick out the flaws in his performance. He finishes speaking with who Kurapika assumes is a front-desk representative for the hotel they’ll be staying in this time. 

Dorias is known for a few things. First and foremost: casinos. Kurapika knows they’re waiting for people here.  _ Chrollo’s  _ people. Some sort of heist… Chrollo doesn’t talk about his plans but Kurapika’s not an idiot. Casinos mean money and having a team means the plans are big enough to be something Chrollo can’t or won’t attempt to steal on his own. 

Chrollo drops the phone on the seat and shifts towards the front to speak to the driver, identical to how he spoke to the woman on the phone. The only thing off at all isn’t the way he’s interacting with people, it’s how he’s done nothing to indicate Kurapika exists. Kurapika knows why. He knows exactly what’s coming the moment Chrollo closes the partition with a click. 

It’s like a switch. Kurapika blinks and Chrollo isn’t a charming man. Kurapika shifts to cross his legs to hide the barely suppressed chills he gets when Chrollo finally looks over at him. 

The distinction between human and uncanny is striking every time. Kurapika feels like he never properly appreciated all the little movements that people do, from minuscule facial twitches to hand gestures, until they were missing. The way Chrollo acts around other people is just that, an act. It’s a spectacular performance, good enough to fool anyone.

Kurapika closes his eyes so he doesn’t have to see Chrollo’s stare in the reflection, creeping closer like a threat. But he can feel it… unwavering… 

Kurapika rubs his thumb over the sleeve of his heavy, woolen coat - structured and the color of toasted vanilla. He reminds himself that it’s good Chrollo doesn’t act around him. It’s good that he knows the truth. 

As a rule, Chrollo doesn’t interact with people for long periods of time. Only as long as necessary for surface-level transactions. He never lingers in conversation. One day, Kurapika wants to see him try. He suspects that over the course of a long conversation, cracks would show. With how immediately Chrollo drops all affectations when it’s just the two of them, the act must be draining. Every detail Kurapika would do subconsciously is a conscious decision for Chrollo. Without him putting forth the effort it’s like living with a fish. No discernable thoughts or desires. No anger or impatience or… hell, Kurapika sometimes has to remind Chrollo to  _ blink  _ when he really starts to make his skin crawl. 

Kurapika opens his eyes again, looking down to the reflection of his tense mouth as he takes a strand of his hair to wind it over his fingers, soothing himself and breathing steadily. His hair is now long enough to rest on his shoulders. He hasn’t bothered to keep back the length since he was taken by Chrollo seven months ago. Seven and a  _ half _ months and seventeen hours. Kurapika will be seventeen this spring… He rubs the strand and tries to focus on the soft texture, not the passage of time. 

The limo accelerates slowly, adding the whirl of tires on wet pavement to the white noise of the night while the patter of rain on the roof crescendos. 

“Do you like it?” Chrollo asks. 

His voice is still smooth and deep, but it’s not warm. Even so, Kurapika can assume Chrollo’s comfortable in his position, kneeling on the floor right in front of Kurapika’s knees. 

He’s asking about the limo. The limo is the only new thing so… he’s asking if Kurapika likes being in a limo. 

Kurapika has come to know so many strange things about his kidnapper over the last few months. He’s a vicious criminal, infamous among other criminals and honest people alike. He’s a repulsive man, a thief who takes whatever he wants without any regard for the people around him. 

However, Chrollo… Chrollo is an odd thief. He lives like a ghost, moving from one place to the next as though he was never there at all. Chrollo stole the exact amount of money needed to rent a limo from the limousine rental company whose services they’re currently using. Then, earlier today, he presented the limo to Kurapika as… what one could describe as a gift. What’s a gift in Chrollo’s mind, anyway. 

All of the other things in Chrollo’s life appear to have been obtained in a similar way from clothes to living accommodations. Stealing but then… giving something back. Or maybe trying to make it even out. He’ll donate expensive clothes he no longer needs or wants and simply drop money when it turns out he has more than he needs for a particular purchase rather than keep the change. It’s as though nothing is valuable for Chrollo like an odd manifestation of nihilism. The only thing Kurapika hasn’t seen Chrollo trade out is one very distinct knife - a curved blade of about thirteen or fifteen centimeters in length that is one of the few possessions he sees Chrollo pack. Even then, seven and a half months and seventeen hours later, it still feels like a stretch to say that Chrollo particularly  _ likes _ anything. As ridiculous as that sounds. But he’ll always ask Kurapika what he likes. 

“I would prefer not to linger. I’m tired.” Kurapika says rather than answering directly. 

If Kurapika’s lack of interest in the gift bothers Chrollo, he doesn’t show it. 

“We’ll be at the hotel soon.”

Time creeps by as Chrollo sits and stares at only the left side of Kurapika’s face. It must relax him or reinvigorate him or something. The first few times Chrollo did this, Kurapika thought he was expecting something. Like any moment he would insist Kurapika fulfill some fetish for him. At first, when Chrollo’s character was more questionable, Kurapika would make an effort to have him do things like be a footrest. After a few days, Kurapika decided to test him by never telling him to do anything, just to see how long Chrollo would sit. It turned out to be as dangerous as challenging a screen-saver. A creepy screen-saver. 

Kurapika focuses on relaxing his jaw. He uncrosses his legs and lets his knees part naturally. Chrollo might be content as a weird statue but Kurapika prefers otherwise. 

“Chrollo. Come.” He orders. 

He’s good at speaking with confidence. He pats his right thigh twice like he’s beckoning a dog, still looking towards the window and trying to comprehend the neon signs of the passing bars and nightclubs. 

Chrollo shuffles across the floor to sit between Kurapika's knees. He slowly - hesitant or savoring - lowers his head to rest it on the leg Kurapika pat. 

Kurapika sets his hand in Chrollo’s hair, confirming that this is correct. Outside of a heist, Chrollo wears his hair in a shaggy middle-part. He has a deep widow's peak and a cow-lick that’s only tamed when he gells his hair back. He lays with his cheek on Kurapika’s dark jeans, not nuzzling as Kurapika thinks he would prefer in order to avoid smearing the thick concealer he’s wearing on his forehead to cover his tattoo. 

His tattoo of a spade-tipped cross on his forehead. The thing that regular people decide to get. 

Kurapika doesn’t bother to move his hand. His fingers are warmed by Chrollo’s scalp and thick, black hair. It takes exactly fifteen minutes for them to reach the hotel. Only when the limo has stopped does Chrollo move. He sits upright to straighten out his clothes, fixes his hair, then gets out to hold the door for Kurapika with the umbrella raised. By the time they’re stepping into the hotel lobby, Chrollo holding their two small bags of possessions, Chrollo appears to be an ordinary man once more. His traits that separate him from average men only being his nice clothing and good manners. 

The lobby is warm and clean with golden accents anywhere Kurapika looks. That means they’ll probably be here for at least a week, maybe more. 

They check-in at the desk where a brunette young woman brightens upon hearing and recognizing Chrollo’s voice. He can hear Chrollo politely reject the offer of a bellhop and not much else. Soon, Kurapika has his own copy of the room key and walks all the way to the elevators with Chrollo. He watches the dial drop and just as it’s descending below the third floor, he gives Chrollo a new demand. 

“Go get me dinner.”

It’s been a long day for both of them and the light rain has progressed to a downpour. They could easily get room service. 

Chrollo looks at Kurapika almost long enough to make him wonder if the man will put his foot down. But no, Chrollo blinks hard and is nodding. 

“Yes. What would you like? Can I bring our bags up first?”

Kurapika hums and considers what would inconvenience Chrollo the most. Then he gives up on trying to decide. The fact that Chrollo is asking probably means neither could inconvenience him enough to tell Kurapika no. 

“Something hot. I’ll take the bags.”

Neither of them has much when it comes to possessions and Kurapika will take his solitude when he can. Chrollo obediently hands off the bags and watches Kurapika get on the elevator. Kurapika can’t think of why he’d wait for the doors to close before leaving. To make sure Kurapika doesn’t run doesn’t make sense since he’s leaving him in the hotel with money and their things. 

Alone in the elevator, Kurapika deflates with a heavy sigh. He curls into his own chest and digs his palms into his eyes until he’s seeing dapples of light. He has until Chrollo figures out what Kurapika wants to eat at eight-fifty-three in the evening in a casino city in the rain, out and back, to think in peace. 

Their room is on the eighth floor. It’s colored red and gold with cream-colored sheets that remind Kurapika of his distant home. There’s only one bed, of course, with a good amount of floor space. They have a kitchenette, a round table, two chairs, a wardrobe, a closet, and a television. They’ll definitely be here at least a week. 

Kurapika toes off his low boots then drops their bags by the wardrobe and his coat over one of the chairs. It’s the best thing he’s gotten from Chrollo, the heavy material bringing him comfort the last few months. He’s attached to it and impulse makes him want to shred it. 

He rubs his defrosting nose and wonders if he should unpack or tell Chrollo to… but it doesn’t take him long to decide that what he wants most of all is a hot shower. He uses the complimentary soaps and makes the water as hot as he can bear it - standing under the stream with grit teeth for fifteen minutes until he’s boiled off as many feelings as possible. By the time he’s drying himself, Kurapika’s stopped feeling impulsive. 

He puts on one of the plush, off-white hotel bathrobes and braids his damp hair in front of the steamed mirror. Being unable to see himself is ideal. With his longer blond hair, Kurapika looks just like his mother...

When he was a child, Kurapika had wanted to be his mother. He wanted to have all her grace and her magic. Now he doesn’t want to see his mother where he’s standing so he leaves the bathroom well before the mirror clears. 

Chrollo’s probably found dinner by now, as well as some other trinket to bring back - like a crow. Twenty-six minutes have passed since Chrollo left and it’ll probably be about twenty more until he makes his way back. Kurapika could be out of the hotel by then, getting on one of the underground trains. He could ride it as far as the rails go and from there he could hitchhike. It would be odd hours and anyone who picked him up would want something in return - they always do - but then after  _ that…  _

Kurapika pulls the hotel bathrobe around his body tighter and moves to the kitchenette to boil some water for tea. He picks one of the complimentary green tea packets and opens it into a waiting mug. He takes the steaming mug to the table and sits with his legs curled into his chest. He stares into the darkening water and wonders if Chrollo caught him running, would he be angry then? Kurapika can’t imagine it. 

How immovable Chrollo appears is so unsettling that his kinks are a relief. Even if they don’t make sense, at least Kurapika knows that there is something inside Chrollo that makes him hold his wrists out and say  _ please _ for Kurapika to bind them. Something between his nerves and brain that makes him say  _ please more _ when Kurapika slaps him across the face. Maybe it’s the sort of logic Chrollo uses when he rents a limo with money from the rental company. Or maybe it’s as simple as Chrollo liking to be insulted when he gets off because there’s no such thing as making things even for kidnapping a person. 

Kurapika is halfway through his cup of tea when the door opens and Chrollo steps in with a bag of takeout. 

Chrollo’s as unsettling as ever as he walks over to Kurapika to present his food. Then, he places a bracelet on the table, gold with a bird charm dangling from it. 

“I got this for you,” Chrollo says. 

It’s  _ stolen _ of course, since there’s no tag or box with it. That’s always how Chrollo says it though… like he just happened to find a bracelet out in the wild. Wandering around on its own. Maybe that is what Chrollo thinks...

_ Psycho _ . 

He hasn’t tried calling Chrollo that to his face yet. 

Kurapika pulls his mug from the table into his lap so his hands, his empty wrists, aren’t near the bracelet. 

“You don’t like it?” Chrollo asks without any passion. No offense, no concern, just… asks. 

“I’m hungry,” Kurapika says although he doesn’t have much of an appetite. 

“Ah,” Chrollo moves to pull out their food. In the seven and half months, seventeen hours, and forty-eight minutes they’ve been together, in which Kurapika still has no confidence in saying that Chrollo likes things as a general concept, Chrollo knows that Kurapika distinctly does not like greasy food. So, a styrofoam cup of soup is placed before him. 

A second serving of soup follows, the exact same kind Kurapika has. Chrollo always gets two of the same thing Kurapika wants, keeping him completely in the dark about his kidnapper’s tastes. There’s no way they happen to like all of the same  _ everything,  _ always. 

It deeply disturbs Kurapika how little he can understand the man he’s been living with. He’s always been so good at it… knowing what men like and don’t like… that’s a survival skill that Kurapika thought he had down to an art form. 

He tries not to blame himself. Chrollo barely counts as a person anyway so… so that’s why. 

Kurapika opens the soup and the disposable spoon all under Chrollo’s eyes. He’s sure that Chrollo doesn’t mean to be intimidating or threatening - he’s  _ positive _ of that. It’s just  _ gross. _ He slowly stirs the soup then has a spoonful of the light broth. It’s warming and not too hot. 

When Kurapika swallows his first mouthful, Chrollo finally stops staring to help himself to his own bowl. This time, it’s Kurapika who watches from beneath his pale lashes. Chrollo’s deft fingers tearing open the packet of tableware and…

“Stop,” Kurapika commands his misbehaving dog, just as Chrollo is getting his filthy fingers on his own spoon. 

Bit by bit he pushes Chrollo more every day. It’s not like there was ever any sort of kink negotiation between them and Chrollo hardly negotiated whether or not Kurapika would complicit in any of this so… He pushes Chrollo. When will Chrollo refuse to act submissive? What would make him say  _ no? _ Or perhaps… When might Kurapika’s cheek finally know the sting of the back of Chrollo’s hand for not acting like the correct fantasy dom?

Chrollo is frozen, not looking at Kurapika, and Kurapika knows this isn’t too far yet. He knows Chrollo staring unblinkingly at his soup is him being obedient since the order Kurapika gave did not include  _ look at me.  _

Kurapika closes his eyes, taking a steady breath and then an even more steady sip of tea. Seven months some change and Chrollo still does anything Kurapika says as long as he uses that tone. Although, Kurapika hasn’t tried saying  _ let me go _ . He suspects that would be the line and he’s not running towards that yet. There is too much about Chrollo that is strange and confusing for Kurapika to want to risk calling out his delusions so directly. 

“You don’t deserve to eat at the table with me.” Kurapika lowers his mug with a muted thud. Soft, but decisive. “Eat on the floor where you belong.”

Kurapika opens his eyes to see Chrollo’s reaction. There’s the slightest tremble in his hands, then they’re steady once more. The barest flutter of Chrollo’s lashes acts as the tiniest indication he heard Kurapika at all. Except Chrollo would never ignore him, even if sometimes it looks like he does. 

Chrollo nods and stands up to tuck his chair back under the tiny table. He grabs his soup and his spoon. 

“No spoon,” Kurapika decides. 

Chrollo’s hand pauses, leaving the spoon on the table, then rests on his foam cup. He sinks to the floor right where he is. 

Kurapika takes another sip of his soup, hums as if reconsidering the flavor, then nods in approval. “That’s better. You can eat now.”

Chrollo is silent and Kurapika only barely hears him drinking his soup because he’s explicitly listening for it. 

He’ll have to test Chrollo’s obedience around his  _ people _ . Just thinking about that makes him nervous. Kurapika’s been many things for many men, including dominating. He’s tied men twice Chrollo’s apparent age up in enough knots to call them friendship bracelets but even those men would have surely beaten Kurapika for so much as thinking of humiliating them in front of their peers or underlings. Perhaps even killed him. 

It’s hard to imagine Chrollo feeling shame with him sitting quietly on the floor, drinking soup straight from the container just because a teen prostitute told him to. But Kurapika’s not comfortable enough to forget about that  _ switch  _ that all men have inside them. From pleasant to violent in a blink… No, Kurapika’s nowhere near comfortable. Still, he thinks he should try. Nothing dramatic yet, just one little  _ push _ . 

If he angers Chrollo, that has its advantages too. 

The chill of the evening is thawed by the soup, putting him at ease the way a hot meal always does, so long as he doesn’t let his gaze drift to Chrollo or the bracelet. 

Chrollo finishes first and looks to Kurapika but Kurapika won’t rush for him. He takes his time, enjoying each individual cooked vegetable. By the time he’s swallowing the last mouthful of broth he nearly smiles. He shifts in his seat from his fingers down to his toes as the coziness settles in. In Nostrade’s brothel, he was fed regularly to keep his energy up and was treated especially well due to his popularity, particularly with the owner himself, but there was always the looming overhead to maintain that popularity. 

There are few things that make life worth living like a hot meal in peace, a cup of tea, silence and - 

The long, slow breaths from under the table remind Kurapika that he is not alone. Again, he is  _ nearly _ enjoying himself.

He looks down to see Chrollo, lips parted as he breathes through his mouth, something Kurapika’s pretty sure only happens when he’s really doing it for Chrollo. Whatever  _ it _ is. Nostrade thought Kurapika had an  _ i t _ _factor_ too.

Once again, Kurapika squares his shoulders and straightens his posture, chin lifting to turn his nose up at the man beneath him.

“Take a shower and I  _ might _ let you near me.” 

Chrollo closes his mouth, maybe put out, and nods before getting up to do as he’s told. Regardless of his feelings, Chrollo needs it. His concealer is threatening to crack at any moment. Blissfully alone once more, Kurapika gradually relaxes while he finishes his inoffensive tea. At the end of the cup, he’s eager to get in bed and even more eager to remember that he won’t have to fuck anyone in it for breakfast in the morning. Being with Chrollo really isn’t all bad.

He tosses the bedding to the side and lays on the sheets, limbs spread carelessly, and eyes closed as he runs his hands over the high thread count. If he really tries, he can tune out the sound of the shower and let it blend into the rain. Kurapika imagines getting to be by himself for a  _ whole night _ , reading until he falls asleep curled around a good book like he used to back when he was eleven. When he could turn off after a long day. Then the next morning he would sit with his mother while she fed his baby brother breakfast and tell them both all about the wonderful things he learned in his book the night before. Long lost civilizations, ancient religions, amazing animals… Kurapika’s memories are another thing worth living for.

When the door to the bathroom opens, Kurapika becomes aware of himself again. The shapeless sprawl of his body, the way his head is thrown back into the pillows, the domestic smile on his face… He pulls himself together, propping up to look at Chrollo who, sure enough, is looking at him. Chrollo is lingering in the doorway in a matching bathrobe, his wet bangs framing the exposed cross once more. Waiting for an order, probably. Wanting to be invited on the bed or sentenced to the floor or…

“Why did you stop?” Chrollo asks.

Kurapika’s mouth tightens and he adjusts the pillows behind him.

“Stop what?”

“Looking like that.”

Ever the voyager, Kurapika supposes bitterly. He could never taint memories of his family by having them in the presence of a pervert like Chrollo. That happiness is for Kurapika, no one else.

“You think there’s something wrong with the way I look now?” Kurapika challenges.

Chrollo shakes his head, appearing thoughtful. How terrible it must be for him to have to  _ think _ around Kurapika when he only wants Kurapika as a safe haven for his desires.

“I think…” Chrollo begins and Kurapika prepares himself to be amazed. “I think that you are not resting now.”

Kurapika nearly scoffs at the understatement. It seems Chrollo isn’t completely deluded. Not all the time, anyway. 

“Get over here. On the bed.” Kurapika says. He doesn’t want to put it off. 

Of course, he could make Chrollo sleep on the floor or even in the bathroom but having him creep around, doing nothing except listening out for Kurapika, is somehow worse. At least when he’s busy with a task like showering, Kurapika knows he isn’t watching. Plus he’d rather Chrollo not pursue whatever line thought he stumbled upon.  


For as lacking as he is in the face, at least Chrollo walks normally. He moves silently but is not overly stiff, shoulders moving with his stride. He sits on the side of the bed near Kurapika’s feet, hands folded in his lap over the split in his robe. 

Chrollo’s weird and creepy with how he stares and the way he fetishizes Kurapika - calling him an angel. Revering the purity he imagines Kurapika to have despite the hole in the wall he ordered his underlings dragged Kurapika from. It’s nothing but fantasy and likely a way for Chrollo to justify his kink. But Chrollo… Chrollo hasn’t failed a single test yet. He’s never raised his voice or hesitated or even been unaccommodating. Although he isn’t treating Kurapika like a person, it’s still the best Kurapika’s had in a long time.

Kurapika leans forward towards his kidnapper. He reaches for his face and Chrollo doesn’t flinch when Kurapika’s cool fingers close Chrollo’s grey eyes for him. With one of the most unpleasant features out of sight, Kurapika feels more at ease in taking Chrollo’s head down to his stomach as he lays back in one smooth motion. He feels Chrollo’s breath seep through the robe and the slight tug on the bedding as his fingers curl into it. Kurapika can’t tell if it’s a grasp of yearning or content but either way, he knows Chrollo will take whatever he gets and no more. 

Ruby earrings are set on the bedside table and the blankets are brought up to Kurapika’s chin where he likes them, burying Chrollo. Since Kurapika has no books with him, he turns out the light. Even with the curtains drawn, the room is partially illuminated by the sleepless city just beyond them. 

Despite nearly having a zombie in his bed, Kurapika’s exhaustion weighs him down into a luxurious number of pillows. As steady as he can be, he reaches back down into the bedding where the undeniable weight of Chrollo lay exactly where Kurapika left him. Oval-shaped nails drag through damp locks and down the back of Chrollo’s neck. Chrollo shivers at the spider-light touch crawling down. With his other hand, he traces Chrollo’s jaw and strokes his cheek. 

“Do you like it?” Kurapika asks, echoing Chrollo. 

Chrollo nods and presses into the warmth of Kurapika’s stomach. 

“Yes,” The reply is barely audible. 

Kurapika turns Chrollo’s face over from one hand to the next then idly traces his lower lip. He taps on the soft skin lightly, Chrollo’s lips nearly the same ill tone as the rest of him. 

“Kiss here. On my hand.”

Chrollo’s cheek shifts over Kurapika’s stomach as he leans in to kiss Kurapika’s palm tenderly, straight nose fitting into the crook of his thumb. Kurapika can feel the low hum that stays in Chrollo’s throat as his own hand lays over it. 

“You can touch my hands,” Kurapika says. 

He doesn’t even know why he lets Chrollo get away with so much. Maybe because it’s been so long since someone used his body and it’s begun to feel strange, not being touched. If that is the case, at least the idea of having sex with Chrollo still makes Kurapika’s throat tighten with revulsion, so he believes he’s not too damaged. 

Chrollo cradles the hand he’s kissing with both of his own, lips reverently indulging in Kurapika’s warm palm, his wrist, and each of his fingers. Kurapika allows Chrollo to turn his hand over to worship his knuckles as he feels counts Chrollo's pulse. It pounds against Kurapika’s fingers revealing the passion concealed inside.

“Don’t work yourself up,” Kurapika advises. “You won’t be allowed to get off tonight.”

Those words are enough to make Chrollo shift against the bed. If he wasn’t getting turned on just by kissing Kurapika’s hand, the explicit denial has done it. Despite the odds, a tiny bit of satisfaction escapes into the corners of Kurapika’s lips. Chrollo is so easy - he would have been a great client. He probably would have been a regular, paid for hours at a time that may as well have been a break for Kurapika, and he would have only been giving Nostrade’s own money back to him. Kurapika nearly laughs at the idea. The infamous thief Chrollo, stealing time with Nostrade’s favorite whore under the guise of playing by the other criminal's rules. Of course, Chrollo did them one better by stealing Kurapika entirely. Kurapika has to wonder, not for the first time, if Nostrade’s alive. He didn’t see what happened in that backroom after Uvogin tossed Kurapika over his shoulder and carried him out kicking and screaming.

Chrollo’s shortened breaths tickle the hair on Kurapika’s arm as kisses drift up his wrist. 

“Only my hand,” Kurapika reminds him. 

He spreads his legs so Chrollo can lay between them, knees hooked over Chrollo’s shoulders and robe riding up as extra temptation. It’s not a test since Kurapika is past wondering if Chrollo will take more without permission. 

“Open your mouth.”

Chrollo obeys and Kurapika rewards him by using his thumb to pin down Chrollo’s tongue. A low moan drips out of Chrollo’s open mouth along with a bit of drool. The bedding shifts as Chrollo presses into it, getting needier the more Kurapika gives him. 

“No getting off,” Kurapika reminds him with a sharp yank on Chrollo's hair to match his tone. 

He knows exactly how cruel he’s being. 

“Yes, angel,” Chrollo’s reply is distorted by heat and the fact that he’s literally under Kurapika’s thumb. 

Kurapika has to swallow his revulsion at the pet name. He can barely stand it - a chilling sign of Chrollo’s madness tangled up with the lie that strikes Kurapika like an insult. 

“You’re disgusting.” He spits. 

He tightens his grip on the back of Chrollo’s neck, thinking about the bruises he could leave behind, only to stop himself. The wet whine that comes from Chrollo burns Kurapika’s ears so he pretends not to hear it. 

He’s done. He pulls his hands away from Chrollo, bringing them up to clutch the collar of his robe. He turns and makes himself comfortable on his side the way he prefers to be, uncaring of how Chrollo is inconvenienced by his legs. 

“You can touch me,” Kurapika mumbles into the pillow he’s chosen to make his nest. 

His words are raw and without reason. Rather than trying to analyze them, he curls his legs up into his chest and fills his mind with lists of familiar truths. Chrollo’s body shifts up along with his hand, steady and slight as a pick-pocket's. Over the bare skin of Kurapika’s thigh and up his robe until it can rest on his hip, just beneath the tie that’s cinched around his waist. Chrollo stays under the blankets and buries his face into the middle of Kurapika’s back, breathing deeply and radiating satisfaction as though he’s been rewarded. 

Kurapika keeps his eyes shut tight and keeps listing what he must remember over and over. 

_ Low empathy, low neuroticism, high agreeableness, highly manipulative, criminal versatility, parasitic lifestyle, Machiavellian…  _

He needs to sleep so he won’t let himself wonder what will happen when Chrollo no longer needs him - just like any other object that finds itself in Chrollo’s filthy hands. 

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> Please don't hesitate to suggest tags in the comments :)


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